I was hanging out in a hotel room with Mick. He was drunk and shit and tripping on some acid. He decided it would be a good idea to call charlie in his hotel room. I tried to stop him, but he dialed the fucking number to his room anyway. Mick wakes Charlie up naturally and asks him "where is my drummaa" but he all britishy and slurred. About twenty minutes later, I hear a knock on my door. Charlie is there, in a full suit, every hair on his head neatly combed to the side. He shoves me out of the way and punches Jagger in the face, almost knocking him off the balcony. "I'M NOT YOUR FUCKING DRUMMER, YOU'RE MY FUCKING SINGER."